


someone who knows how to ride without even falling off

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, F/F, Magic Mike XXL AU, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 06:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21441709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: Whatever Bernie expected when she was invited out for Lieutenant Taylor’s hen do, it certainly wasn’t this
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 45
Kudos: 142





	someone who knows how to ride without even falling off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Regency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regency/gifts).

> For Regency, my sister from another mister, in honor of her birthday. Love you lots, twin o' mine, and I hope you enjoy it! <333
> 
> Shout out to my best gals: Beth, for keeping me on task and letting me write at her, and Bonnie, for making me look good with her badass beta skills

Whatever Bernie expected when she was invited out for Lieutenant Taylor’s hen do, it certainly wasn’t this.

The place looked innocuous enough from the outside: an elegant, secluded house on the outskirts of the city with a well-tended garden fenced in by wrought iron. Walking through the front door, however, was like walking into another world entirely. Dim sultry lighting, thumping bass-heavy music emanating from every direction, the air thick and heavy from the heat of so many bodies crowded in one place. And all around were women, laughing and shouting and throwing money at the oiled bodies of mostly naked men.

Bernie turns her head away as yet another chiseled boy young enough to be her son rips off his tearaway trousers, to the screaming delight of the women surrounding him, hips thrusting in a pair of shiny, skin tight drawers with an almost comical protuberance in the front. When the invitation said they would be seeing Taylor off with “a wild night at an exclusive strip club,” she naively assumed it would be of the more standard gentlemen’s club variety, and that the dancers in question would be women. 

Oh how wrong she was.

Now she sees no way out. She doesn’t want to offend the bride-to-be or abandon her increasingly inebriated squad mates, but she also couldn’t possibly be less interested in the “entertainment” the club provides.

The music fades out, women applauding wildly as the young man grabs his trousers from the lap of a gleeful blonde and a handful of crumpled notes from the floor; once again, Bernie’s flagging attention is drawn to the only bright spot in this disaster of an evening.

“Another round of applause for, Luke! Isn’t he lovely, ladies? And so very...flexible.” Serena, _Domina’s_ owner and emcee, strides into the room, fulfilling her role in the festivities, husky voice positively dripping with innuendo as she riles the women up with promises of further delights from a variety of dancers.

Bernie lets the velvety voice wash over her, eyes lingering on the enticing silhouette of the brunette’s body: the way her perfectly tailored, crisp white suit nips in at the waist, trousers which cling to the swell of her hip before falling practically to the floor, showing only a peep of leopard print stilettos, the blood red waistcoat that fits her like a second skin, presenting an unholy amount of cleavage with no blouse underneath. 

Not for the first time tonight Bernie wishes Serena herself was the entertainment, lets herself imagine being the focus of those sparkling eyes, tangling her fingers in the short crop of dark hair, shot through with silver. 

Pulsing music swells once again, pulling Bernie from her increasingly distracting fantasies in time to see Serena lead another indistinguishable square-jawed hunk, wearing a mesh shirt and tight leather trousers, to stand in front of Lieutenant Taylor. The other women in their group squeal with delight when he lifts the bride bodily from her seat, guiding her legs around his waist and grinding against her. 

It’s more than Bernie can bear. With their attention diverted, she skulks out toward the bar, orders a double whiskey and tosses half back at a shot. Maybe if she drinks enough the rest of the night will somehow become bearable.

“You don’t look like you’re having much fun.” A shiver runs down Bernie’s spine, whiskey sloshing up the sides of her glass. Serena slides onto the stool beside her, a warm smile on her face. “I hate to see a beautiful woman so gloomy in my club. Anything I can do to help?”

Bernie feels heat climb the back of her neck, knows she’s blushing furiously. “N-no, I’m fine. It’s all just a bit…” Her hands gesture vaguely in the air between them. “Much.”

Serena’s teasing smile softens a bit, her fingertips alighting on Bernie’s arm where it rests against the bar, her touch raising Bernie’s skin in goose bumps. 

“Your first time at a strip club?”

“No!” Bernie’s eyes widen a bit, even more embarrassed to come off as some kind of blushing virgin at her age. “No, I’ve been to my fair share over the years. This place just isn’t to my tastes, exactly.” She winces, afraid that she’s overcorrected, sounds like some kind of sad club trawler.

Serena’s gaze cools, reinforcing that fear. 

“I see,” she says, voice crisp and eyebrow arching. “Is the entertainment not up to your standards?” 

Bernie wonders if smacking her head against the wooden surface of the bar until the gorgeous woman gave up and went away would look a little odd. _Probably_.

“Your club is lovely, I swear. And I’m sure the gents are...fine.” Serena’s lips thin and Bernie rushes onward. “The problem isn’t the quality, it that they’re, well, _men_.”

“_Ah._” Understanding dawns in Serena’s eyes, a crooked smile returning to her lips. Bernie feels her heart rate start to level out a bit. “Let me guess. You got dragged here for a hen night and the other ladies conveniently forgot that this isn’t your cup of tea?”

“Got it in one.” Bernie barks out a laugh, takes another sip of her whiskey. “I thought I should retreat to the bar before one of those boys mistakenly got the idea he was going to get a tip out of me.” She shudders, adds, “I’ve already seen _far_ more than I prefer tonight.”

Serena laughs, full-throated and wonderful; the sound curls up somewhere behind Bernie’s sternum, warming her whole chest.

“Well I am sorry for that. Especially because I pride myself on making sure that all of my guests enjoy themselves to the fullest.”

“I think your pride can remain intact, since this isn’t your fault at all.” Bernie raises her glass in a half salute. “As long as you have more of this fine single malt, I’ll manage.”

She knocks back the rest of her drink - _it really is excellent_ \- happy to have something to occupy her from any further attempts at inserting her foot in her mouth, chides herself for once again losing her head in front of a beautiful woman. _It’s no wonder you’re single._

From the corner of her eye she can see Serena studying her, an intensity in her gaze that ratchets up Bernie’s temperature as surely as the burn of the whiskey in her stomach. She’s about to order another, when Serena gestures to the bartender, who walks over promptly with a wide smile, and Bernie takes some comfort in the idea that Serena’s employees find her as charming as Bernie does. Serena leans forward across the bar toward the young woman, the view that presents sufficiently distracting that Bernie misses what she says entirely, barely notices the bartender handing her towel off to someone else, slipping out from behind the bar and disappearing into the noisy crowd.

“Come on.” Bernie feels herself flush as Serena’s hand trails up her arm, tucking through the curve of her elbow and tugging her off her stool. “Why don’t we see if we can find something a little more entertaining for you.”

Pulled along in Serena’s wake, they make their way through the crowd, up a curving staircase to an elegantly appointed room, decorated in deep red velvets and mahogany woodwork. 

“Why don’t you have a seat while I get ready.” 

Bernie sits awkwardly in the chair that Serena gestures to, a plush, spacious affair with tall arms that make her feel surprisingly small, hands wound together tightly in her lap as she takes in her surroundings. It seems to be a small lounge of some sort, all low lighting and chaises around the perimeter, a well-stocked bar cart to one side. Serena fiddles with a stereo system in the corner and Bernie wonders just what kind of entertainment Serena is planning. She finds herself glancing to the door, half expecting the pretty bartender to reappear in a skimpy outfit.

Music begins pouring from hidden speakers, a throbbing bass beat layered with sensual rhythms that reverberate through Bernie’s chest. She feels her mouth go a little dry as Serena turns and walks toward her, stepping in time with the slow beats, an extra sway in her hips that elevates Bernie’s heart rate. 

She pauses in front of Bernie, frowns a little at her rigid posture.

“You’ll have to forgive me if this is a little rough,” Serena says as she shrugs her jacket off her shoulders, letting it slowly slide down her arms before tossing it aside. “It’s been quite a while since I was on the performing side of things.” Her red lips tip up in a sultry grin. “But I think I remember the basics.”

Before Bernie can ask what she means, Serena nudges her knees apart and steps between them, hips swiveling in time with the music. She reaches down to take Bernie’s hands, draping them over the arms of the chair, and it all clicks together.

Her ears roar with white noise.

Serena braces her hands on the back of the chair, leans in close enough that Bernie can smell the spice of her perfume, feel the warmth of breath on her neck. Her fingers dig into the plush upholstery as Serena pushes upward and Bernie has to bite back a moan at the luscious display of cleavage hovering mere inches from her mouth, can’t stop her imagination from running away with thoughts of burying herself there. 

None of which prepares her for the feel of those incredible curves against her, torso pressed flush against hers till the last possible moment as Serena sinks to her knees, mouth hovering dangerously close to the zipper of Bernie’s jeans. 

She can feel her heartbeat pounding between her thighs, her fingers already aching from their grip on the chair.

Grinning wickedly, Serena’s hands slide up Bernie’s tense legs, gripping her hips and tugging her forward in the seat, their eyes locked as she nuzzles her cheek against the inside of Bernie’s thigh.

“Relax, I don’t bite,” Serena purrs, quirks an eyebrow. “Well, not unless you ask.”

With a wink, she pushes back to her feet. Bernie’s eyes devour every inch as Serena moves to the throbbing beat, mouth dry at the sway of her hips, the dip of her waist. 

A helpless groan slips free as Serena settles in her lap, arse circling in a slow grind that has Bernie panting, the not-enough friction the most delicious torture. Leaning back, Serena rests her head on Bernie’s shoulder, lips just catching the edge of Bernie’s jaw, giving her an unobstructed view down the planes of Serena’s body, a peek of black lace beneath her wine red waistcoat.

Serena’s hand curls around the back of Bernie’s neck, fingers tugging a little at the blonde curls. Bernie shivers as she drifts lower, brushing lightly against the side of Bernie’s neck, over the curve of her own breast to the center of the waistcoat.

The large buttons slide free easily, and with a last nip to Bernie’s jaw, Serena rises. Bernie can’t help but hold her breath as Serena shrugs the red fabric off one pale shoulder, then the other, body rolling sinuously in time with the music. At the last possible moment, she turns around with a wicked gleam in her eye, pulling the waistcoat back on, and Bernie has to bite back a groan.

Disappointment must show on her face, because Serena chuckles as she twirls and bends. Bernie’s gaze is drawn again and again to the strip of skin bracketed by the dark fabric, appearing and disappearing with each of her movements.

Elegant hands pull the opening wider, the waistcoat finally fluttering to the floor as Serena threads her fingers into her short crop of hair, stretching her torso in an arc, dark eyes hot and intense.

Bernie want to look everywhere at once, overwhelmed by all that smooth ivory skin, the soft swell of Serena’s abdomen, the way her full breasts strain against the black lace of her bra. Her eyes follow helplessly as Serena’s hands trail down over the curves and planes of her body, her hands twitching, longing to follow the same path.

Serena’s fingers come to rest on the waistband of her trousers, and Bernie swallows hard, watches intently as she pops open the button and _oh_ so slowly lowers the zipper. She turns a few times, thumbs tugging down the trousers just enough to show a flash of matching black lace, more of her glorious skin.

She nudges Bernie’s legs further apart with a tap of her pointy heels, moves to stand between them. Eyes locked on Bernie’s, she pushes the trousers off her hips inch by inch, revealing lace knickers, cut high on her curvaceous hips. The fabric slithers down Serena’s legs, and she grips Bernie’s shoulders lightly for balance as she kicks them aside, one leg at a time. The movement has the added bonus of putting her cleavage directly at Bernie’s eye level, and her pulse hammers in double time.

Bracing her arms on the chair, Serena lifts herself a bit, settling her knees in the tight space on either side of Bernie’s hips. The heat of her soaks through the thin fabric of Bernie’s clothes, the spicy scent of her perfume sensual and inviting, and Bernie’s fingers go white as they dig into the plush upholstery.

Bernie has to bite back a whimper as Serena’s lips once again find her neck, brush teasingly along the sensitive spot beneath her jaw.

“I do appreciate chivalry,” she murmurs, breath hot against Bernie’s ear. “But there’s no need to keep your hands to yourself.”

Leaning back to put some space between them, Serena bites her lip with a smile, slides a hand down the centerline of her body, hips bucking a little as she brushes the front of her knickers. Her hand moves from her inner thigh to Bernie's waist, following the curve of her torso, around the edge of her breast so slowly it makes Bernie squirm. 

She flinches a bit as fingers glide over the ticklish spot beneath her arm, and Serena's eyes squint a bit in apology.

Serena lifts Bernie’s hand from the chair, blood rushing back as the pressure of her grip releases. Raises it to her lips, eyes never leaving Bernie's as a tongue flicks out lightly against Bernie's fingertip. She slowly sucks the digit into her mouth and something close to a whimper slips from Bernie's throat, her entire body throbbing at the sensation. Serena grins, teeth flashing white around the tip of Bernie’s finger.

Releasing her with a soft pop, Serena keeps a steady grip on Bernie's hand as she guides back down over the curves of her body. Her skin is even softer than it looks, and Bernie wants to touch her everywhere, even as a part of her is still stunned to be given the privilege. Without thinking, her other hand moves to Serena's hip, tugging her a little closer. Serena just hums with satisfaction, grinding slowly in Bernie's lap. 

Serena rises to her knees, and Bernie groans at the sight of Serena's breasts scant inches from her face, close enough that she finds herself brushing her lips where rough lace meets silky skin. She feels the hitch of Serena's breath, feels the hand in her hair tighten as she nuzzles closer.

Serena pulls back, her eyes dark and sparkling, and something shifts in the atmosphere, thickens. It no longer feels like a performance, a sizzle of chemistry sparking between them, strong enough that Bernie’s breath catches, her skin flush with goosebumps. She finds her gaze dropping to the rich crimson of Serena's lips, the realization that Serena is doing to the same making her stomach lurch.

Bernie stays very still, afraid to push too far, heart pounding as Serena slowly closes the gap between them, warm breath gusting across Bernie's lips.

A knock at the door startles them apart, unexpected enough that Bernie has to grip Serena's hips to keep her from tumbling off her lap.

"Serena?"

"Yes?" Serena replies, a little breathless.

"Sorry, but we need you downstairs."

Serena swallows hard, and Bernie can see the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck.

"I'll be down in a minute," she calls back. With a regretful frown, she slides from Bernie's lap.

It feels awkward, the sensual music still throbbing in the background, and Bernie finds herself averting her gaze from Serena's half naked body as she steps back into her trousers.

"I'm sorry about this," Serena says, her back to Bernie as she buttons up her waistcoat, tugging it sharply into place. "One of the hazards of being the boss." She flashes a grin over her shoulder and Bernie smiles a little wanly in return.

Serena moves to click off the stereo, the sudden quiet disconcerting. Bernie stands, hands shoved into her pockets, torn between uncertainty and the lingering arousal still flooding her veins. A part of her can't help but be disappointed, and she chides herself for getting caught up, for thinking that maybe this was something more than it clearly is.

"Um, how much do I owe you?" Serena looks startled at the question, pauses as she's pulling her jacket back on, but recovers quickly.

"It's on the house. In fact," she grabs something from the table, steps close again. "Here."

Bernie looks down at the card Serena slips into her hand, the name of the club emblazoned across the front.

"What's this?"

"It's my number. In case you'd ever like me to finish that dance for you." There's an uncertainty in Serena's eyes, a vulnerability that makes Bernie think this isn't the usual way of things. Maybe she's not the only one who thinks there's something here. Serena’s unsure, hopeful smile makes her almost certain she’s not.

“I’d like that.” She feels warmth flood through her at the flash of delight in Serena's gaze. "I'd like that very much."


End file.
